Stitches
by E et R
Summary: Modern AU. Grantaire gets into a bar fight after an argument with Enjolras. There will be angst. There will be a lot of angst. So be prepared. For this angst. Written by R, beta'd by my sister E ;)
1. Chapter 1

Grantaire was sitting at the bar with a glass of brandy. He was still hurt after what Enjolras had said to him earlier today, but the alcohol eased his pain a bit. It was late and already dark outside. He was absent-mindedly doodling something in his scrapbook, when someone snorted next to him. He looked up to see a huge man looking straight at him. He thought he knew his face from somewhere, but couldn't remember where.

"You were at the Musain last night." The stranger's voice was truculent, and - oh, yes, now he remembered - he had been thrown out of the Musain yesterday, for starting a fight.

"Yeah, so what?" Grantaire replied and the man laughed.

"This whiny bitch you all listen to's gonna end up locked in bedlam, you know" His twisted smile grew wider. Grantaire's blood boiled.

"And you will end up six feet under if you keep talking like that" he hissed and turned back to his drink. _He's not gonna throw me off balance... I won't give him the satisfaction..._

"Oh... did I touch a nerve?" The man's tone was mocking. "Man, chill, accept it - it's true, what I said - unless he's gonna get killed on one of these rallies of his, that he couldn't shut up about yesterday. I'd rather see him trampled to the ground, to be honest, his babbling made me want to throw up- "

Taire's fist didn't let him finish the sentence. The man put his hand up to his nose, which was starting to bleed, looked at Grantaire in drunken rage, and hit him, hard enough to knock him off his chair. Before he could get up, the man kicked him repeatedly, before he had a chance to stand up again.

When he realised he was spitting blood, he started wondering if it was really worth it. The next few minutes were a blur. Someone was shouting, then he was picked up and thrown out, along with the man he punched. Before the other one could get to him again, he somehow managed to get to his feet and run the hell outta there.

When he was sure he was not being chased, he collapsed and let everything be consumed by darkness. He wasn't sure how long he was lying on the ground, but as his wounds still bled, he assumed it wasn't too long.

He shakily got to his feet and looked around. He had to think hard - as his swimming brain was having trouble working properly - to work out where he was, but luckily, he realised he was just ten minutes from the Musain, so he limped towards the café.

 **Reviews and faves get cookies**

 **R**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! So here's the second chapter, Merci Starishadow, Lotobesh and .9 for reviewing and favouriting and my wonderful sister for beta :***

 **R**

Enjolras was sitting at the Musain, sorting through his papers. The meeting didn't go on for much longer after he threw Grantaire out, everyone was at home, or wherever they usually went, and he was sitting on his own, which was rather rare, but he was grateful for it. He didn't have the patience for people at the moment, so when the door burst open, he gave out an annoyed sigh. _Here we go,_ he thought. _I'm never gonna finish this..._ But whoever entered the café didn't come to the bar or the table, he just stood by the door, breathing heavily. Enjolras, intrigued, turned around and gasped as he saw who was there and, more importantly, the state he was in.

It was Grantaire. His clothes were ragged and covered in dirt and blood. His hair were a total mess, and he had a split lip, a black eye, and his nose looked as if it has been broken. He didn't look at him, and from what Enjolras saw, he looked like he was about to black out there and then. The law student quickly got up, his previous irritation with the artist completely forgotten, and hurried to his injured friend.

"'Taire!" he grasped his arm and tried to catch his attention. Grantaire looked up and squinted - he didn't seem to recognise Enjolras at first.

"Apollo..." he mumbled and tried to make a step towards him, but it seemed that the adrenaline, thanks to which he had managed to run before, had worn off, so he stumbled and he might have fallen, if Enjolras hadn't caught him. The leader led him to the nearest chair and crouched in front of him.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, his panic slightly rising as he saw Taire's fluttering, heavy eyelids that made it seem as if he was on the verge of losing consciousness. He mumbled something incoherently and spat out some blood. By this time Enjolras was seriously worried.

"Where are you hurt?" He tried to calm down his breath and racing heart. Grantaire pointed with his shaking hand at his chest.

"He kicked me there... I think - I think I have some broken ribs... and - and my head hurts..." he said weakly. He closed his eyes and Enjolras nearly yelled at him to stay awake, having absolutely no idea what to do. Especially when he realised that the artist had a large gash on his forehead, that was bleeding heavily. He frantically reached to his pocket and took out his phone.

"I - I'm going to call Joly... stay awake, it's all going to be alright..." he attempted to soothe him, frantically trying to find Joly's number. Thank God, the medicine student picked up after the third ring.

"Hi, Enjolras! What's-"

"Joly - come to the Musain as quickly as you can" he said, trying to sound calm, but the panic in his voice was clearly visible. Evidently, Joly realised it was an emergency.

"Who is it and how badly hurt?" He said professionally.

"It's Grantaire, he... umm I'm not sure, but it looks like he got in a fight? His head is bleeding and he says he might have broken ribs... I don't know..."

"Ok, I'm on my way. Try to stop the bleeding and don't let him fall asleep." The phone call disconnected before Enjolras could answer.

"O-okay," he looked around, trying to find something he could press against the wound on Taire's head. Luckily, there was a cloth lying around that seemed to be clean, so he took it and, praying that he wasn't doing more harm than good, brought it up to the cut and applied pressure. Grantaire hissed in pain and Enjolras muttered a half-hearted "sorry", but somehow refused to look him in the eye. He tried to talk to Taire, to make him focus on him, and it seemed to be working. He talked about anything and everything, from his protests to the good coffee that he drank in the morning at the new café nearby. Grantaire was mindlessly looking at him, a smile spreading across his lips. It was weak, yet it was definitely there.

It barely took fifteen minutes for Joly to arrive, but to Enjolras it seemed like an eternity. He let go of the cloth and let his friend look over Taire's injuries. He was sitting next to them, growing anxious at each time a frown broke on Joly's face and at each wince of Taire's. Finally, Joly looked at him.

"So... the situation looks like this..."

 **Reviews and faves gets cookies and pancakes ^^**

 **R**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi There! Here's the third chapter ;) Merci beaucoup Starishadow and my sis E ;)**

 **R**

"He has a concussion; three ribs broken, two cracked; loads of bruises; and the cut on his forehead requires stitches..." Enjolras sucked in a sharp breath, as Joly looked up at him

"I'd prefer to patch him up somewhere..." he looked around, searching for the right word. "…cleaner". The leader nodded.

"We can go to my place, it's nearby," he said weakly.

Grantaire felt dizzy. His head was throbbing, his vision was swimming, and his torso was on fire. He tried to concentrate on what Joly was saying, but at the moment his words didn't make any sense. He looked up at Enjolras, who, as he noticed, surprised, was standing next to him, with a hand on his back. Before he could do anything about it (not that he minded), Joly crouched down to face him.

"R, we're going to get you to Enjolras' place, okay? So that I can patch you up" he said clearly. Grantaire, once he had finally understood, nodded, and instantly regretted the action as a wave of nausea exploded in his stomach.

The next fifteen minutes were a blur. He remembered Joly's and Enjolras' hands helping him up and guiding him to the door, as his ribs screamed in protest, which he chose to ignore – it wasn't as if it was the first time he had broken a rib, right?

He remembered a sudden wave of wind that he felt when they opened the door, getting in a car, and then, he supposed, he had drifted off to sleep - as soon as his head touched the headrest. When he woke up, he was lying on something soft and comfortable. He tried to get up, but firm - yet gentle - hands held him down. He looked up to see Enjolras' pale form standing beside him. He looked worried, if not panicked ('Oh come on, it's Enjolras, he doesn't _panic_ ,' he thought to himself). Joly, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen, but Grantaire thought he might be preparing stuff to get him 'patched up', as the med student had put it. The artist looked around his unfamiliar surroundings and he realised he must be at Enjolras' place. He hadn't been there before, so he figured he should use the occasion, since he could. The room they were in was huge. Really, the whole space was bigger than his family's house, if he could even call it that.

It was square shaped, two opposite walls were painted red, and the others black (no surprises there), the windows were gigantic, and Grantaire suspected that during the day the light here was astounding. He was lying on a black couch, and that was all he could notice before Joly came in through the door that led to the bathroom, which he caught a glimpse of when the student opened it. He was carrying a bowl, most likely filled with water, a cloth and a box. He handed the bowl and cloth to Enjolras and told him to clean his forehead from blood, as he prepared his medical equipment.

Enjolras dipped the cloth in the lukewarm water, and gingerly started cleansing the wound. He hoped beyond hope that he didn't cause Grantaire much more pain. He felt kind of hesitant, not sure if he liked the idea of stitching up the artist on his couch. Not that he minded him lying there, no, he just thought he'd feel better if Grantaire was being taken care of in a regular hospital with regular doctors. Ok, Joly was a medicine student, but still - he was a student, what if something went wrong? He let off a shaky breath. Joly surely knew what he was doing, he told himself. He should stop panicking and have more faith in his friends. All his friends.

Grantaire's gasp of pain shook him out of it. He realised he was pressing the cloth to the gash too hard.

"Sorry" he muttered.

"Ok, Enjolras... Give me that..." Joly said, and he put the bowl down on the coffee table. He followed Joly's line of sight and saw with dread that he was looking at the needle. Hesitantly, he reached for it.

"Won't you knock him out or something?' asked Enjolras shakily. Ok, now he really didn't like the idea.

"I can't, he has a concussion," came the feared response. He looked back at his patient and sighed.

"Here, when you feel pain, bite down of this as hard as you can." Grantaire did not answer, because Joly had just put a wad of fabric into his mouth and he preferred not to nod. Joly threaded the needle and looked at Enjolras, who looked disgusted at the medieval circumstances the operation was to be performed under. His face became even more repulsed when Joly made him part of it:

"Hold him still."

 **well**

 **I'm sorry XD**

 **R &R please**

 **R**

 **ps. Doesn't it look awesome? R &R R XDDDD**


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